Emotions, torment my heart. Suspicions… why torture me?

There was a rapping at the library door. What? Ms Fawcett just left and she has her own keys! Bloody hag!….Oh, it was….Slim! Hi! “Can I come in? To work innit. C’mon man, don’t be a wasteman”, he countered each of my objections. Obviously I was going to, but it felt nice to laud my power over him. It’s the basics of territory marking in the animal kingdom. Minus the urine. Here was another person, like a whole other person, that like me, elected to spend time in the library working instead of out there doing what boys do? It provided some kind of validation, because he was cool and normal for all intents and purposes. As he got his books and things out, I realised that we never shared the same core classes, but we both took Design Tech (D&T) and IT (you already know about that) and apparently were in the same workshop. “I’ve never seen you in lesson”, he remarked. Pfft, you weren’t alone mate, not even the teachers saw much of me. OK, so it seemed like Slim wasn’t a fool. He was in top set for everything, like me. We immediately sized each other up, each recognising the other as perhaps an equal. I don’t know what it was about him, but we always got into deep debates about anything and everything. He was a Shi’ite and I a Sunni. Whilst other students made a point of this theological divide in their own debates with each other during lunch, remarkably myself and Slim never riled each other about our respective creed. In fairness we both recognised the slight differences but we chose to get along rather than contend with one another. And besides, we would rather compete with one another in our school subjects.

We entered Year 11; GCSEs. Four letters that struck fear in all UK school pupils. Everyone can attest that they knew someone or other who hoped they died before they had to face their exams, or prayed for the apocalypse, or some pandemic. Something, Anything just not to face doing them. I don’t really think Slim and I felt that way. Anyway, I want to tell you about how our friendship unfolded. I recall spending more time with him, sort of a camaraderie. You see at that part of my life, I would never have entertained the idea of doing anything about my feelings. I was usually always with the South Asians and they were a sprawling all-consuming bunch of sorts. I describe myself as a social butterfly; a welcome and fascinating addition floating between groups but never really persisting in any one group for too long. There were definitely some lunch times where I would foray into the cafeteria or great hall to eat with the rest. Queueing up was a bit scary because all pupils are in view of each other, and a lot of fights broke out in those queues because of queue-cutting, jostling, accidentally looking at someone who was in a bad mood that day etc. And of course when you dressed differently and talked a bit different people always stared. So I would always be the object of looks and whispers, but never overt bullying. The Arabs or Kurds were a nice bunch though, they always seemed to keep the peace in the queues. Slim hated the queues too, and therefore elected to bring his own lunch, which meant he would bypass the queue and head straight to a table to eat (on the occasions that he forayed outside the library). To get to D&T lessons immediately after lunch, one had to pass the great hall where everyone had lunch. Slim sort of got into a habit of waiting for me at the exit of the great hall which had a corridor that lead down to D&T. It felt sweet, don’t ask why. If he was on his way to a lesson, and he saw me in the playground or somewhere, he would wave and wait. Habib and the others noticed too. One time we all sat around a bench and the little shit nudged me and said poignantly “Oh look, there’s Slim, waiting for you Jubz”. Which always set my heart aflutter. And I would immediately abandon what I was doing and head off with Slim to lessons. He would stand there in his baseball cap slightly askew, oversized GAP jumper, loose pale blue jeans and his backpack with puppy-dog eyes and expression. In D&T there were 3 of us who stood out. Me, Maha and Slim. Myself and Maha shared a workbench with Sonya and her best friend, another Bengali girl who was so disengaged from school, all she cared about was filing her nails, applying mascara and chewing gum loudly. Slim sat on another workbench with other Arabs. And there was one last workbench with the Bengalis, whom I knew by association. There was one guy who stared openly at me and if I glanced at his direction he would close his mouth and look away hastily. He was Rumana’s boyfriend; such a well-mannered polite boy paired up with the most spoilt brat in the school. We move. I rarely came to morning D&T because I was always late, but after lunch D&T was a whole double period. And even then I was half in and out of the lesson. The Year 10 mocks were a wake-up call; basically D and C grades when I was predicted A and B grades. One time I came in late and the teacher Mr Thain, whom I can only describe as an English Einstein (white coat, tufts of white hair at the sides, specs) was the sweetest and kindest teacher. He just sighed and directed me to the wood area to ‘try and entertain yourself for the remainder of the lesson, I suppose Jubeyr’ as he was busy with other students clamouring all over him to either refine/re-do/revise their designs. So I found some wood and started carving a 3D cat out of it. It was quite rudimentary but I copied a template. I then got some fluorescent paint and started flicking it, decorating the cat in this kaleidoscope of colours. I then drew on some shapes that only fluoresced under UV light. Lesson about to conclude, I turned off the nearest lights around my work station, and just as Mr Thain walked past, I flicked on a UV torch. ‘Wowzer’, was all he said and stopped to examine what I had done. ‘You know Jubeyr, if you actually came to lessons, you could easily make A grade, because clearly you have a talent’. I think that was what I needed to hear because the time for GCSE project ideas had come and I knucked down. Maha’s project was a Moroccan inspired lamp, Slim’s idea was to make an a wall clock out of acrylic, impression moulded in the shape of Taz, the Tazmanian devil, and mine was some abstract idea of an elaborate ornamental candle holder made from red, orange and yellow acrylic material, inspired by Arabic culture. Classic me (eye roll). This brought all three of us even closer together throughout the year as we gravitated onto a single workbench. The camaraderie was excellent. I liked to be around Slim. He used to make me smile and feel giddy, and if I was complimented in front of him, I beamed, and if reprimanded, I bristled. If he was in an altercation with someone, I instantly wanted to be on his side, if he made a mistake or something, I felt embarrassed on his behalf and wanted to look away or pretend I didn’t know. What is that called? Obviously none of this could be communicated to him or to anyone. So I just internalised my feelings. But the dangers of this is that we lash out in ways unintended. You see, this attention from him was nice. and with no way to appropriately express my feelings for what they were, what do I go and do? I bloody ruined it. In the library, I was this sweet, gentle natured person that was rational and reasonable with him. But outside, in the jungle, I transformed into this bitch. I was becoming ever more popular in school, and the others liked my company. And I threw this in Slim’s face. He approached the bench I was sat at near the end of lunch break, where I was laughing and entertaining Habib and the others. Slim walks over, waits patiently after I finish talking, and raps me on the shoulder to ‘collect’ me for D&T. He was really polite. But I got cocky, turned my face only to the side, and spat out ‘can’t you see I’m with my friends? You go’, and I turned my head back pointedly and made a face that said jeez, why are you so obsessed with me. His face fell, like I slapped him. Immediately I felt regret. I felt like I slapped him. He understandably took a step back thereafter, and that’s all I can recall about that.

The year traverses and I feel more affinity toward Slim. I recall a poignant memory I wish to share with you, if you would allow me to. I know my ramblings are quite wordy, but I have a lot to say! There was a time in Year 11, just before GCSE exams, when I felt particularly restless. The last few lessons before exams were basically revision sessions for us. They opened up school on weekends for revision classes that took place in the library. I only attended because Slim messaged me that he would attend too. He text messaged me, on my Motorola brick phone. But it was one of the newer smaller models that had a blue screen; that was quite the novelty back then. Anyway, I think we tried to co-ordinate meeting up etc by email but it was such a faff. So then we exchanged numbers. He asked for my number to be precise. Genuinely was the best feeling. And I got a message to my phone from his number saying It’s Mo and I cherished that message for as long as I had the phone. His name was actually Mohamad Slim, we just called him Slim. I realised, during this one revision session, that I kept glancing over his way to see what was up. The guy was just happily revising. And here I am obsessing. I don’t see him traumatised by my pheromones so why am I preoccupied with thoughts of him. The next day was much the same, took all morning to get ready and presentable, came to school for revision where I spent most of my time procrastinating and doing silly things to get his attention. This is ludicrous I thought. So I decided to go home. I felt an instant relief as soon as I left his vicinity. I realised I was actually stressed just being around his magnetism. About to go through the metal turnstile gates they caged us in (gosh that school was like a cage, were the students really that bad?), when one of the Bengalis saw me and beckoned me over. They were messing about as part of a larger group, whom had abandoned revision. I sat with them but wasn’t present; my thoughts were elsewhere, two floors up to be exact, and wondering if he missed me. ‘I’m sorry guys, I have to go’, I just said and left. A momentary feeling of relief, and then on the bus journey home, knots in my stomach began to form. Shit. Why was this happening to me. It was all those times I entertained thoughts about you-know-who. So I got home and did my prayer. I recall, during those months, I felt upset whenever I prayed. Like trapped by my feelings that could never be said out aloud. No one to seek counsel from, no one to share my teenage dreams. It would ruin my prayer and I would become even more stressed and upset. But I think that day, I had this inspiration to think about the positives. So just before I began my prayer, I sat there and said to myself look, at least so and so happened today, you got to spend time with him, you made people laugh, so and so complimented you on this, you scored so and so on so and so test etc. This helped, because I was practising positivity and gratitude. And I began saying Alhamdulillah (all praise belongs to God) a lot. It is a way of expressing gratitude to God in spite of a persons situation. My heart instantly lightened. The prayer was then easier to focus on. The same thoughts came to me one time, halfway through A Level Biology lesson, I walked down the stairs and was reflecting that I had a good day that day, they don’t come often, but when they do, you gotta remember them and say thanks. And then Debbie grabbed me against my will – keep reading to find out what and why. For now, I just want to conclude with what I presume you have gleaned too; that I had feelings for Slim, but due to the societal views about homosexuality back then in the early noughties, I was a victim of homophobia like countless other Muslims.

The Pragaymatic Muslim

• High School Chronicles (8)
• His-story (14)
• Pluralism (1)
• Prelude (2)
• Revelation (2)
• Turning point (1)

1. 

   Ahahha. Thank you dear reader. Please do forward this on to those whom you think may benefit. High school is…

2. 

   Oh can’t wait for the next part. Very captivating.

3. 

   Merci beaucoup. If it pleases you then I will strive to compose more. Please spread the word and invite others…

4. 

   I like reading these!

5. 

   […] about how to suppress and repress the dark thoughts and suicidal ideations that plagued me at the turning point…